


Sympathy for the Devil

by veryvincible



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Disabled Character, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Paralysis, Unreliable Narrator (sort of), Young Tiberius Stone (flashback), Young Tony Stark (flashback)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:27:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26710648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veryvincible/pseuds/veryvincible
Summary: "A good showman always gives the crowd what they want," Ty said, quieter then. Tony shouldn't have been able to hear his voice from that distance, not with all the other noise sounding off around them. It was just one of the many ways Dreamvision bastardized reality, he supposed.Ty raised the sword.Tony wanted to keep his eyes shut.He didn't. He couldn't. That wasn't Ty's doing, was it?The sword stopped just inches from his chest, and it was then that Tony realized he'd been pushing himself closer to the tip of the blade. He sighed, falling back against the ground. His head hit the packed sand below harshly, but he couldn't bring himself to care enough to check for blood."It-- It stopped," Ty gripped the handle tighter, and Tony could see the effort he was exerting on the blade. That wasn't... That wasn't him, was it?-Dreamvision canon divergence.The simulation fails. Ty loses. He spun a good story, but his sudden psychopathic villainy just didn't add up.He was unstable, and Tony knew it. If only Tony could stop feeling personally responsible for it.
Relationships: Rumiko Fujikawa/Tiberius Stone (past), Rumiko Fujikawa/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Tony Stark/Tiberius Stone
Comments: 19
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

Bile rose in the back of his throat, the remnants of the acid burning with each inhale. It was bright, obnoxiously so, and deafeningly loud. There were so many crowd members screaming that Tony almost couldn't decipher what it was they were saying. Almost.

"Stone! Stone! Stone!" came from all around him. He could barely lift his head; part of him stayed close to the ground instinctively as the sun scorched his eyes, and part of him was too focused on swiping at the roaches crawling into the holes of his faceplate to consider anything else.

His ribs felt like they were caving in. He tried to push himself up on all fours, but a sudden hard blow from above knocked him back down. The blows came again and again, and the screeching sound of metal against metal filled Tony's ears. He felt the pressure of the suit around his body disappear, but its broken pieces were nowhere to be seen.

He found the strength to look up, _finally_ , and. Ah. Tiberius Stone was wielding a sword above him.

It was funny, almost.

Almost.

Had he been watching all of this through a screen, he might have called it a cash grab. Maybe he'd have called Ty up and asked, "You're really airing shit like this on national television?" Maybe they would have laughed about it, as stupid a rib as it was.

There wasn't much to laugh about, then.

Tony was so fucking tired. He was tired of fucking everything, here, and though he was aware of the fact that Ty was behind quite a bit of it, he still couldn't shake the feeling that it was different when it was just the two of them.

He was angry, certainly- he would never claim he wasn't- but, fuck, there were no secrets anymore. Not there. Tony had contemplated his final moments enough times to make Maria cry from beyond the grave, he was sure, and he'd never quite imagined them looking like this.

It was fitting, wasn't it? To some degree, it had to have been. He'd spent so much of his life feeling discarded that it was only poetic to have one of the first accepting figures in his life deliver the final blow.

He couldn't let Ty finish it, though. Could he? He had a job to do. He had so much to do.

But, fuck, who wanted him to do it? Sure, Cap had a touching interview. His friends would mourn him, of course, but they'd been through that song and dance once already.

Did the world _really_ need Tony Stark? Clearly, he was incapable of forming even one meaningful connection lasting more than a decade. His best efforts to do good only resulted in envious antagonists trying to do better. He’d be remiss if he were to consider his actions exclusively in the question of whether or not he was a net positive; the real question, it seemed, was how many Ty Stones there were as a direct result of each of Tony’s actions.

The answer seemed conclusive enough. He was breaking the world more than he was fixing it, wasn’t he?

Was there any reason for him to fight, at this point?

"They're calling for your _head_!" Ty yelled over the crowd, almost laughing through the words. Tony could have cried at the irony alone-- whether it would be amusement or grief, he wasn't entirely sure. "I'm sorry, but I've got no choice, really!"

Tony caught Ty's eye as the sword was brought up, and... well, he wasn't certain what he saw. If he'd seen that same look in Ty's eyes just weeks before, he might have felt more sure in his guess.

He looked manic. He looked gleeful. He didn't look like himself.

Or, well. He looked more like himself than ever, didn't he? He'd told Tony himself-- he never cared.

It just didn't add up. There was that same feeling of _wrongness_ in this narrative that there was in the previous one, and Tony just- he couldn't just--

He couldn't give it up, could he? He couldn't accept this loss.

What a fucking loss it would be.

"Wait, Ty," he pleaded, taking in a sharp breath. He clutched his rib under his breast, shutting his eyes as pain flared through his torso with each inhale. "Ty. Tiberius."

"A good _showman_ always gives the crowd what they want," Ty said, quieter then. Tony shouldn't have been able to hear his voice from that distance, not with all the other noise sounding off around them. It was just one of the many ways Dreamvision bastardized reality, he supposed.

Ty raised the sword.

Tony wanted to keep his eyes shut.

He didn't. He couldn't. That wasn't Ty's doing, was it?

The sword stopped just inches from his chest, and it was then that Tony realized he'd been pushing himself closer to the tip of the blade. He sighed, falling back against the ground. His head hit the packed sand below harshly, but he couldn't bring himself to care enough to check for blood.

"It-- It stopped," Ty gripped the handle tighter, and Tony could see the effort he was exerting on the blade. That wasn't... That wasn't him, was it?

Tony knew what it felt like to fight. He hadn't been fighting. Right? Should he have been? Maybe this was another trick. Maybe Ty wanted to twist the knife before... plunging the, uh. Sword. Into Tony’s virtual self.

God, Tony was tired.

"This is-- This is _impossible_ ! How can you be _doing_ this?" Ty's voice raised, and though Tony's heart rate skyrocketed in response, he couldn't muster up an answer to the question.

Not one Ty would want to hear, anyway.

"I'm not."

What happened next was difficult to describe; it was something Tony had never felt quite the way he was feeling it, or at the very least, not to that magnitude.

If he had to put it into words, it would be these:

The screen went black.

* * *

Tony opened his eyes, taking in slow, deep breaths. His hand went to his face first, gripping the loosened visor on his face and pulling it off. Tony hadn't gotten a good look at it during Ty's presentation; upon close examination, it was a more simply designed device than Tony would have expected.

To call it impressive would be an understatement.

His hand went to his ribcage next. He felt along his sides, pressing in where the suit had caved in on his body in the simulation. All seemed well enough. He was certainly breathing easier.

Finally, he sat up, the rush of blood causing black spots to dot his vision like watercolor in a glass.

Ty was in the chair across from him, body slumped over the table and visor fixed to his-- no. No, the visor was loose, just like Tony's. Ty must have been disconnected, too.

So, why wasn't he moving?

Tony stood up cautiously- it was another ploy, wasn't it? It had to have been. He was going to reach for Tiberius, and Ty was going to... what, grab him? Tony was certain enough that he was more well-versed in hand-to-hand combat than Ty was. He almost spared a moment to wonder whether or not Ty would know that himself, but there wasn't much mystery left between them after all of that.

Tony would leave at some point. He would. He'd walk away from this, he'd expose Ty to the world, he'd... He'd do that.

He just had to check. He just had to know.

He reached for the visor held loosely in place in the space between Ty's forehead and his hand, tugging it away with little effort.

Ty was unresponsive.

The funny thing was, Tony had come to a lot of realizations since seeing Ty again.

He would never get Rumiko back. That was for the best. She was better off without him.

His friends, very possibly, might have been better off without him.

The world might have been better off without him.

He'd be lying if he said it wasn't a bit of a melodramatic response- like Rhodey had said to him before, putting a microscope on _anyone's_ life would probably reveal more than a few skeletons in their closet. He just couldn't imagine anyone having quite so many skeletons.

Both literal and figurative.

His most recent realization at the time was that, regardless of what had happened between them and regardless of the fury that threatened to overflow every time Tony allowed his thoughts to drift to the sequence of events that had just occurred for more than 5 fucking seconds, he didn't want Ty hurt.

Well, he didn't want Ty hurt _badly_.

In the same way that death could cause people to mourn their worst enemies, the potential near-death of Tiberius Stone had a way of dragging Tony's long-standing care for the man to the surface once more. Whether he liked it or not, he'd given a shit about Ty, goddamnit, and he could only hope that saving the poor bastard's life would persuade the universe to offer some karmic reward.

Maybe Ty would feel like a piece of shit for ever crossing Tony. 

Tony could only hope.

He dragged Ty out of the chair and onto the ground, pushing him onto his side. He didn't want to shuffle Ty's body around too terribly much- what Dreamvision did to his head was difficult to gauge, after all- so he slipped his own hand under Ty's head to support it, pulling Ty's knee out with his free hand to keep him from rolling onto his stomach.

He would be ashamed to admit that the temptation to kick him square in the gut was strong.

Maybe not _all_ of his anger was repressed in the moment.

No matter.

There really was no option other than to call an ambulance, and at that point, Tony knew how it would look. He knew the picture that would be painted: Tony Stark, childhood friend of Tiberius Stone, attempted to murder the poor motherfucker in some act of petty revenge. 

But there was no other option.

It was his already sullied reputation or, very possibly, Ty's life on the line.

So, he dialed 911. His hand was trembling.

That was when Ty's body twitched. Tony flinched lightly, his thumb hovering over the "call" button. Ty's body twitched again.

His eyes opened slowly. He barely seemed to register the fact that Tony had a hand cradling his face. His gaze flickered up to Tony, then settled somewhere else, not-quite-fixated on the wall behind him.

Tony wasn't entirely sure where to go from there. Was Ty conscious? Sort of. Was Ty conscious enough to warrant Tony bitching at him? Maybe not.

Ty's brows furrowed. He lightly wiggled each fingertip, rotated his wrist joints, shrugged a shoulder... and then his eyes widened. Without warning, he turned his head to the side and bit down harshly on the meat of Tony's thumb. Tony exclaimed in pain, dropping his phone and shoving Ty's head away with his palm. He only kept an eye on Ty long enough to watch him roll safely onto his back, and then he was standing up.

"What the _fuck_ was that for?" He hadn’t meant to yell, but really, who could blame him?

Luckily, he didn’t have much time to feel any hints of remorse creeping in, because Ty was perfectly equipped to match him at whatever level he set. "What the fuck did you do? What the _fuck_ did you do to me?"

"What did I do to you? What did I do to _you_? Are you fucking kidding me? I was trying to keep you from--"

"I can't move my legs." Ty's breathing was picking up. He'd pushed himself into a sitting position, but he couldn't even come close to standing. "I can't move my legs. I can't move my legs."

Oh.

Shit.

* * *

Under no circumstances did Tony think he'd ever feel personally victimized by an ER waiting room, but there he was, seated in the corner with seemingly all eyes on him. He'd been there for hours at that point, and the only saving grace was the fact that the television playing Friends was louder than the television with cable news on.

It was difficult to escape the feeling of being watched. All he could do was focus on the pixelated visuals of Snake on his phone and the sound of Ross Geller aggressively being a virgin in the background.

Was he even supposed to be waiting? The virtual hellscape had all but faded to the back of his mind at that point, feeling more like a surreal dream (pun unintended) than anything else; even the unbridled rage he'd felt before seemed unjustified, and he wasn't sure whether or not that was a side effect of the shock or... a side effect of dealing with Ty himself.

If nothing else, there was a clear progression of events. There would be no surprises. Tony was waiting patiently. At some point, Ty would come out of those doors or Tony would receive news of an alternative. He could get lost in the simplicity of it without remorse- for the first time in months, it felt like, there was nothing more convoluted to tend to than what was right in front of him.

For the first time in months, nothing was urgent.

Though his body felt grounded in the chair, his head felt like it was floating. There was a distinct feeling of being outside of himself, and he found he really didn't mind the feeling. The television playing in the corner seemed to block out even his own thoughts. He felt heavy more than tired, but somehow, that heaviness still lent itself to an inability to keep his eyes open. He pocketed his phone, sliding his hands down the arms of his chair. With one deep breath, he relaxed into it.

It went against his every instinct to lean into the out-of-body sensation, but fuck, it felt... nice. Calm. Peaceful. He needed peace. He'd get his head back in the game once Ty was checked out. He could take just a few more hours for this, couldn't he? Better this than a drink.

There weren't many guests in the room at that point. Their patterns were predictable- they'd get up, maybe use the bathroom or head outside to stretch their legs, they'd sanitize their hands, they'd check in with the front desk, they'd sit down. There were only so many things you could do, after all.

They looked more like blurs in Tony's vision than people.

He might have missed Ty, if not for the wheelchair. Ty was a blur like the rest of them, but he wasn't following those same patterns- he was closer to the ground, yes, but he was also coming out of a door that no one else had opened in quite some time. Tony glanced up, allowed his vision to focus once more, and.

Stared.

What else was he supposed to do?

Ty stared back with a new kind of dullness in his eyes, a direct contrast to the unfiltered mania Tony had seen before. If he was being totally honest, Tony couldn't even remember what Ty looked like in Dreamvision.

He didn't look like this. That was for damn sure.

Tony stood up, and though he couldn't find any legitimate justification for the feeling, it felt almost as if he was fighting against that heaviness that had been weighing him down prior.

"What's the news?" he asked, voice hushed in the quiet room.

"Paralysis in my lower limbs and weakness in the hands. It's unlike anything they've seen before," Ty responded, voice almost terrifyingly monotone. "There was a chance, they said, that... Dreamvision's hyperrealism, advanced as it was, could have potentially managed to convince my body it had a problem that it didn't. One hell of a trick, if that’s the case."

Tiberius didn't sound like he was talking to someone he considered an enemy, and if Tony was being honest, he would say it was incredibly off-putting. Ty had always been like that to some degree, unpredictably on and off; you could be the light of his life one day and the bane of his existence the next. It wasn't exclusively limited to those outside of himself, Tony thought- he was just as shaky with his own sense of self, and perhaps that made him more dangerous than he would have been otherwise.

He felt awful for even allowing himself an ounce of distrust toward Ty's melancholy- he was of the mind that it was better to support someone who didn't need it than it was to abandon someone who did- but could you blame him? They'd gone from a near tearjerking reunion to a fucking virtual gladiator-style execution within the month.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Ty." Tony said.

"Are you?"

"Of course I am." He said it like he meant it, and really, he did. He'd never intended to end it like this. He knew himself how damning and restrictive a sudden injury like that could feel, and, well... He didn't want to say he wouldn't wish it on his worst enemy, but he certainly wouldn't wish it on this one.

Was Ty an enemy of his?

The term seemed so reductive. Maybe Tony was just overcomplicating their relationship. It was difficult to gauge; Ty certainly said he'd never cared for Tony, but Tony learned a long time ago not to take him at his word.

Tony wanted it to be more complicated than this, if only so he could have a shred of hope to carry with him. He wanted to believe that Ty was better than this, innately, at least.

He'd seen so much good in Ty.

Ty's gaze dropped once more, slipping off of Tony to fixate on a point behind him. He was a challenging person from the beginning, and though Tony couldn't trust his memories of his youth for plenty of reasons (regardless of Ty's trustworthiness or lack thereof, it _had_ been quite a while since they'd seen each other), he felt a familiar sense of ease when Ty looked away like that. Ty was always calm like that, wasn't he? He never took his eyes off of people he didn't trust.

Right?

Or had he really mastered dishonesty so early on that even Tony's earliest impressions of him were corrupted by Ty's manipulation?

Ty took a deep breath, looking back to Tony.

"You're paying for this, you know," he said.

Tony could have argued. He would have been perfectly justified if he did. He stuck out his neck for Ty on multiple occasions, he always backed down from his line of questioning when Ty's tone went pleading, he trusted Ty again and again when he shouldn't have, and even if none of that were true, _Ty_ was the one who betrayed _him_.

Ty did it to himself.

Tony could have said that.

It just didn't feel right. He knew it could have been considered uncharacteristic of him to believe that the moral choice could stand to benefit the worst of the worst under any circumstances- if Ty could be considered that- but maybe he wasn't supposed to make the moral choice. Maybe "right" was more about the closure Tony needed than the punishment Ty deserved.

"Alright," he agreed.

One last act of charity.

"I didn't see Rumiko," Tony added after a beat of silence.

"Why would you?"

"Wouldn't she be your emergency contact?"

"We just got together, Anthony, don't be ridiculous. I don't have an emergency contact anyway," Ty answered. "Front desk, by the way."

Oh. He wanted help. Tony saw Ty wheel himself out, so it wasn't like he was incapable of it. Probably another bullshit power play.

No. No, that hardly made sense. Ty was clearly tired. It was his fault, yes, but fault didn't negate the pain of being treated for hours in a sudden trip to the emergency room. It was unreasonable for Ty to expect Tony's help and his funds- Tony really couldn't argue with that- but it said more about Ty than anything, and if he were to expect the worst of Ty in places he knew he wouldn't find it, maybe he'd be just as unreasonable.

... Okay, maybe not _just_ as unreasonable, but even so, he didn't feel like a fucking saint for it.

Tony took the handles of the wheelchair, then, pushing Ty to the front desk. He'd pay. They'd go their separate ways. Maybe they'd never see each other again.

The thought of it made Tony feel a little sick. He'd already gone years without seeing Tiberius, so it wasn't like he wouldn't know what to do with himself. There was just an air of finality around it all that he hadn't expected. Some might have considered it easier to let someone go after such a harsh betrayal, but Tony almost felt as if the betrayal hadn't registered at all.

He looked at Tiberius, and all he saw was the guy he loved once upon a time-- a little pretentious, a little unpredictable, but... Fun. Caring, maybe, if he let himself hold onto that.

He couldn't say he wasn't scandalized, but all of that bubbled somewhere deep inside of him. There were feelings closer to the surface he could grasp more easily and hold on tight to, and above all else, he just felt... loss.

It was always painful to enter a new chapter of your life when you weren't prepared to do so. No one could ever be completely ready to abandon the past (Tony couldn't, at least, no matter how bad it got-- the devil you know, and all), but this was different. This felt like it was being ripped from him.

Tiberius knew him well. He'd known him for a long, long while, and maybe Tony's grief wouldn't be so pronounced if Ty hadn't orchestrated his plan in such a way that it was targeted. Tony remembered how tightly he clung to the phone every time he spoke to Ty, how anxious and accusatory he was when he hit "call" and how reassured he felt when he pressed "end". He remembered touching Ty for the first time in years, enveloped in his warmth after being badgered by high society sell-outs for long enough to give him a headache.

Ty was a genius. That much was obvious from his achievements alone- Dreamvision, after all, was some of the most advanced technology Tony had seen in years. Even if Tony couldn't quite trust that any other impressions he had of Ty were correct, he could at least trust that.

He thought it was mutual.

Could anyone blame him for that? He thought Ty's relief would match his when they saw each other. He thought Ty would be just as content in his arms as he always was in Ty's.

It killed a part of him to even wonder whether he was a safe haven for Ty all those years, or an unknowing tar pit of inadequacy Ty didn't have the strength to drag himself out of. 

He should have caught it.

He didn't think he'd benefit from any, "You couldn't have known"s or "It wasn't your fault"s. He was well aware of both of those facts. That didn't mean there was no chance of him ever finding out just how motivated Ty was by their competitions. He'd known from the beginning that Ty was a sore loser, he just didn't think there was any reason to consider why it might have been. Every explanation he'd ever come up with for Ty's behavior was as simple as, "Well, that's just Ty."

Looking back on it, it was clear from the start. Ty was never stable.

Tony should have caught it.

Maybe they'd be in a different place right now if he did.

There were bits and pieces here and there that he'd picked up from Ty himself- Ty would bitch about his father in short, quiet venting sessions. He'd come back to campus from holiday breaks with a cast on his arm and bruises littering his body. He spoke as if it didn't matter- everything was casual to him, everything _had_ to be. Tony had heard "Stark men are made of iron" so many times that he didn't even think to question it when Ty rattled off "Stones don't break easy," again and again.

He paid silently. Ty, at least, let the silence stick for a while.

"Do you have a ride home?" Tony asked once the payment had gone through. He started on his way to the door, expecting Ty to follow. Ty did.

"I do."

That was it, then.

Tony had half a mind to spread the truth. He wanted to. God, he wanted to. Maybe he could press charges.

Like before, though, it didn't feel right. If Ty bit again, he'd bite back.

But he won this time around, didn't he? He certainly didn't feel like it, but he'd won.

He felt as nauseated then as he did every other time he managed to beat Ty at his own game; there was no fight coming, no punishment, no screaming match. Ty had control over Tony's reputation at this point, sure, but Tony already knew the next move he'd be making.

He didn't need a reputation where he was going. Ty couldn't control this.

A sleek black car pulled up to the curb, stopping in front of them. The driver stepped out, opening the back door, and Rumiko caught Tony's eye. She stared for just a moment before turning her attention to Ty instead, resting her hand on his arm as he was helped into the back of the car.

"I'll see you around, then, Caesar," Tony said. It was a weak goodbye.

Ty offered a little wave, laying his own hand over Rumiko's as he responded: " _Au revoir_ , Antony."

_Until we meet again_.


	2. Chapter 2

He'd been sent off at 8 years old.

He didn't know anyone at the boarding school he was to attend. He wasn't well-liked in the slightest. He was, for all intents and purposes, alone. There were no guidelines for this; he was far from home, far from his parents, far from Jarvis.

He was more sensitive than most kids his age, but for that first week or so, he couldn't even bring himself to cry. As strange as it was for him to think about, he just didn't feel _safe_ enough anywhere. He was quiet during meals. He was quiet during classes. He was quiet during the allotted hour for play; it wasn't difficult to be, given that few people made the effort to speak to him, and the ones who did hardly cared about what he had to say in return.

His relationship with his parents was complicated. Even at his age, he knew that-- sure, he thought _everyone's_ relationships with their parents were equally rocky, but you had to give him credit for knowing it was rocky at all. Even so, he'd never felt... so inherently unlovable as he did in that school.

Howard was unpredictable, but clear when he spoke: _Put that down. Pick that up. Drink this. Get out of here. Look at me. Stop looking at me like that_.

If nothing else, Tony knew what to do in the moment. He scrambled to actually accomplish what it was that was being asked of him, but fuck, at least something was being asked of him.

No one really gave a shit, there.

Well, not until Tiberius Stone, at least.

Tony didn't remember the day very clearly, but he remembered his impression of Ty when they met. He remembered what he'd scribbled down in his journal that night.

It had been a rough day.

It was the status quo for Tony to head outside with the other kids in his grade. It was a pretty sizable area for play; there was a nice paved blacktop, a few designated sports areas, a space with chalk for games like four square and hopscotch, and a picnic area off to the side. 

Tony always sat at the picnic table, trying not to seem too terribly forlorn, but he couldn't help the longing that itched at him from the inside when he saw the other kids play.

It wasn't worth it to try with them. It was better to be out of the picture. It was easier to sit there and wonder whether or not the kids would like him if he spoke to them than it was to put in the effort only to have it confirmed that they wouldn't.

His routine was more or less the same. He'd sit at a specific seat at a specific table, desperately trying to keep his focus on the books he brought out with him.

He kept to himself. He thought that would be enough.

It wasn't.

He made his best effort not to shrink into himself when a group of looming figures approached him, but the instinct to hide was too deeply ingrained in his brain. He closed his book, gaze downcast as he waited for any one of them to speak.

“Hey.”

Tony didn’t respond.

“Hey, we’re trying to talk to you.”

Again, no response.

"What's your problem?" one of the kids asked. He turned to the group, and Tony caught mumbles of, "You think he's deaf? You think he's stupid?"

He didn't feel particularly compelled to prove them wrong on either account. They would leave him alone if they really thought that of him, right? He couldn't play deaf, but he could play stupid, at least.

If only he were lucky enough to be correct in his assumption that rational actions followed rational thinking.

"Hey, _listen_ to me," the kid said, tugging Tony's book out of his hands.

Tony's plan of staying quiet went out the window; he couldn't keep himself from his worried "Stop!" as he reached out to snatch the book back.

"What, you want this? Come get it, Stark," the kid held it up high. Tony wasn't the shortest boy in the class, but he certainly wasn't tall enough to reach the book from the ground. He planted a foot onto the seat of the picnic table, about to pull himself up when one of the other boys pushed him back off. He barely had time to clamber to his feet before he was being pushed down again.

The second time, there was a loud _snap!_ as Tony's shoulder hit the blacktop.

It was too much.

It was all too much. He'd been abandoned, he'd been neglected, he'd been beaten down and ignored, and it was too much. There was a distinct feeling of wrongness that he couldn't quite place, as if this _wasn't supposed to be happening_.

He felt a burning sensation in the backs of his eyes, and his hands balled up into fists at his sides. His brows furrowed and his jaw clenched, and the ever-staying tightness in his chest blossomed outward, constricting his lungs.

He sobbed.

The boys in the group exchanged nervous glances, and the one holding the book dropped it down on the ground beside Tony.

"Take it back. Sorry," he said quickly. "Don't tell. Please."

Tony could barely hear the words through his wails.

All eyes were on him, and that feeling of wrongness only grew. He sobbed until his head hurt, until his throat felt like it was going to split, until he was closer to gagging than anything else. He sobbed until the figures looming over him turned into blurs, and he sobbed until those blurs left his side.

He could hardly see his book in the dirt through his tears. He got down on his knees and, nearly panicked, began to pat around for it. The position made the nausea building up inside of him worse, and it was all he could do to grip his stomach and shut his eyes tight. He held in his sobs at that point, too afraid that he'd throw up if he dared to open his mouth again.

A voice broke the silence, a little lower than the other boys. He had a heavy accent- what was that, French?- and his tone was steady, if a little quiet.

"King Arthur, huh?"

Tony felt the sharp edges of something press against his knee. He wiped his eye so he could better see it.

Oh. His book.

He hesitantly took it out of the other boy's hands, taking a shaky breath as he glanced up. The boy had dark hair and a slender face, a little long and a little sharp. He didn't look friendly; in fact, he didn't look like much of anything. His eyes were dull and his expression was blank, and for a moment, it was almost horrifying.

The realization that followed may have been more so: this boy looked as dull as Tony felt, and he almost wondered if people looked at him like he was looking at the boy.

Tony wasn't sure what the protocol was for a situation like this. The shame had started to settle in; after all, he knew better than to be so careless. Crying at all felt borderline sinful at times, but to cry in _public_ was an embarrassment- to himself, certainly, but to his father as well. It was one of those things that exhausted Maria, one of those things that became a chore for Jarvis.

He knew better than to be a burden.

The next words to come out of his mouth became clearer for him.

"Sorry," he started. "Thank you."

The boy nodded, standing up and brushing the dirt off of his uniform. He held his hand out for Tony to grab and, gratefully, Tony did. 

“Is your shoulder okay?” the boy asked. Tony rolled it back, lifting his hand to feel around the joint. It didn’t feel great, but there was nothing too bad, from what he could tell.

“Yes. Thank you,” he responded. That wasn’t the most pressing issue to him, though. He had more to be worried about.

He took his seat at the picnic table once more, setting his book in his lap to examine the damage.

"I have the same book in my room," the boy said. Tony flinched a little at the sound of his voice-- he didn't expect the boy to stick around very long.

"Um. That's cool."

"I'm Tiberius. Tiberius Stone." The boy held his hand out to shake. Tony figured he could do that much, but as he reached for Tiberius Stone's hand, his book began to slip out of his lap. Panicked, he abandoned the handshake to grab it again.

"Sorry."

"Yeah."

Tony dusted the front of the book off, but he could already feel tears prickling at his eyes. The damage had been done. He didn't own much at all, and it was only fitting that that be ruined for him, too.

"Uh, what's your name?" the boy asked, and Tony couldn't help but flinch again.

"Tony."

"Just Tony?"

"Um, Anthony. Stark."

"You're jumpy, Anthony Stark."

Tony let out a frustrated huff, wiping his eyes a little harder. What was he supposed to say to that? He couldn't say _sorry_ again, and if he was being honest, he wasn't sure he wanted to. The boy- Tiberius- was pushing his buttons almost as bad as the other kids were. He was just more sneaky about it. Was that the plan the whole time? Was this a set-up?

"Where are you in the book?"

"What?"

"The book you're reading. Where are you?"

Though he couldn't shake the feeling that this was some sick prank, he wasn't sure how to cut the interaction off. He figured he might as well play along-- the worst had already happened, hadn't it?

"Um. King Arthur’s… gearing up to avenge Sir Griflet."

"Oh, to fight the Sable Knight, yes? I like that one. The Winning of a Sword?"

Tony met Tiberius' eyes. He seemed earnest enough, and Tony was sure that even the meanest of schoolyard bullies wouldn't force one of their own to acquaint himself with whatever Tony found interest in just for the sake of beating him down. That being said, it was hardly an esoteric collection of works.

He was skeptical, but he nodded anyway.

“ _Ha!_ Sir Knight,” Ty started, voice slipping into a character-like cadence, “Why didst thou, having read those words yonder inscribed, smite upon my shield? Wherefore, either deliver thou thy shield unto me without more ado or else prepare for to defend it with thy person!”

Tony huffed out a disbelieving laugh, and for the first time in what seemed like ages, he cracked the tiniest hint of a smile. 

“Gramercy for the choice thou grantest me,” Tony replied, with just a tad bit more volume than before, “But as for taking away my shield-- I do believe that that shall be as Heaven willith, and not as thou willest.”

Tiberius smiled in response.

Tony's gaze fell to his book. Though the dirtying of the cover and the bending of the pages might always be upsetting, Tony couldn't help but begin to wonder if the vandalism was a blessing in disguise.

* * *

Tiberius sat with him the next day, and every day after that. He told Tony to call him _Ty_ if he wanted to, and some days, he brought books of his own. Tony almost felt awful for thinking it- he didn't want to insult his parents at all, and he certainly didn't want to insult Jarvis- but he thought... maybe he'd been lonely all his life, and he was only then experiencing what it was like to be free of that.

If nothing else, he had a reason to smile every day.

They talked about quite a bit together. They talked about their families- Ty spoke in clipped words when his parents were brought up, almost as if he'd been biting his tongue to keep from letting anything slip. Tony understood, to some degree; he even thought he could empathize. Plenty of children were angry with their parents and angry with their upbringings, after all, and it was only human nature to want to complain. Good children, however, knew better than to speak poorly of those they loved. Tony knew it well, and he was sure his discomfort with the idea was a result of that selfish nature he had to suppress.

That must have been the case with Ty, too. Tony decided not to press.

They talked about the music they liked. Ty rattled off names like Edward Elgar, Segeri Rachmaninoff, and Van Halen. When Tony tried to stifle his laughter, Ty said, "Go on, then," and let him, shaking his head fondly.

"You have a nice laugh," Ty had told him. It was the first time Tony had ever thought _anything_ about his laugh, other than to mind his volume.

They talked about favorite colors- Tony liked blue, like the kind of blue of Captain America's uniform, and Ty laughed at _him_ , then. There was a twinge of discomfort at that, but he was sure it wasn't much to worry about. He'd laughed at Ty, after all. Friends did that.

Tony was just sensitive. He couldn't blame Ty for that.

Ty liked blue, too- dark blue, like the bottom of the ocean- and he had to stop laughing to confess it. They moved on, and they talked some more.

It was embarrassing to confess- for what reason, he had no idea- but he preferred most of all to talk about the books he'd read with Ty. Ty had read almost all the same ones, and though they disagreed on quite a bit, Ty remained respectful throughout most of their discussions.

Ty, for example, quite liked Lancelot in the later stories; it was bold of a man to chase what he wanted despite what others would think of him, he'd said. It was bold of a man to love so intensely. Tony fervently disagreed- he was an _adulterer_ , after all, and Arthur was his friend. It was a story of betrayal, no matter how likable some works made Lancelot seem.

Ty asked if Tony had ever been in love.

"No," said Tony. "I'm eight years old."

"Eight?" Ty had asked. "What are you doing in fourth grade if you're eight?"

"I don't know. I didn't put myself here."

"Hm.” Ty paused, then abandoned that line of questioning. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in love, either.”

"I wonder what it's like. I wonder if we'll know it when we feel it."

"What, love?" Ty asked. He fidgeted with the edge of his collar, gaze fixed on the table for a moment before he spoke again, "You know, if you actually _read_ how Lancelot was with Guinevere, maybe you'd wonder less."

Tony shoved him playfully, and Ty shoved him back.

They'd developed a rapport. They'd become a part of each other, it felt like; there was no Ty without Tony and no Tony without Ty. If nothing else, at least their teachers didn't have to watch them individually. They'd both had rough adjustments to their new home, and Tony was sure it would be better for everyone in the long run that they were able to keep each other so busy, day after day after day.

He sat at that same seat at that same table like usual, anxiously tapping his fingers against the cover of his book as he waited for Ty to show. His eyes brightened when Ty came into view, swinging his legs over the seat of the picnic table to take a seat in front of Tony.

"Hey," Ty said.

"Hey," Tony responded, folding his arms over his book on the table and leaning in a little closer. "How was class?"

"It was fine." Ty didn't seem quite as upbeat as normal (subtle as he usually was), and Tony was about to press further when Ty interrupted him to continue. "I'm in ESL."

"Oh. English class?"

"Yeah, basically. I don't really need it, but my father told them to put me in the program anyway. He said it would look better to have a lot of A's, and the course is, like... easy. So."

"Aren't you taking advanced classes in English, though? Like, literature and stuff?"

"Yeah, but in case I fail..."

"Why would you fail? You're breezing through everything."

Ty shrugged, idly picking at a scab on his knee. "Yeah, I don't know. Just in case. I'm not the one who decided."

Tony watched him pick away, and once he saw a spot of bright red drip down Ty's leg, he reached out to grab Ty's wrist. "Hey, don't."

If he'd known how poorly Ty would react, he never would have done it. Ty jerked his hand away from Tony's grasp, pulling Tony's body forward a few inches as he did so. His eyes were wide with shock, his stare leveled coldly toward Tony in a way Tony hadn’t seen from him before. If Tony knew better, then, he may have described Ty's face as haunted.

He didn't know better.

Ty just looked... different.

Ty didn't have any time to level an accusation before Tony spoke.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, though apologies rarely helped with anything. He'd crossed a boundary, hadn't he? They hadn't known each other long. They only ever saw each other during breaks from class. They were barely even friends. Tony was so stupid. Tony was so, so stupid, and he never should have reached for Ty, and Ty was never going to get over it, and--

"Yeah," Ty said in response, slowly relaxing his posture once again. He wasn't quite as calm as he was before, and Tony found that he couldn't calm down, either.

The bell rang for them to go back inside, and Ty stood up from the table, leaving without so much as a "goodbye."

* * *

The next day, it was as if they'd never had that encounter.

Tony sat where he sat, and though he was unsure whether or not Ty would show, he still waited patiently. Ty was just a few minutes late, but he sat down in front of Tony like always, two little napkin-covered lumps in his hand.

"They had cookies in the cafeteria," Ty explained, tone casual as he set one napkin down in front of Tony. Sure enough, the napkin unfolded to reveal a chocolate chip cookie.

"Oh." Tony picked it up, examining it closely. He was clearly too troubled to take a bite. "Um. Ty, I just wanted to say, about yesterday..."

"Don't."

Or not, he guessed. He set his cookie back down. When he glanced up, he saw that Ty had already eaten his.

"Um, have you had these before?" Tony asked.

"Yeah. They had them a lot more often last year."

"Oh. How long have you been going here?" Tony was under the impression that Ty was as new as he was; Ty didn't seem to have any other friends, after all, and it was hard to believe that he'd be as ignored as Tony was. He was more sociable and more approachable, Tony thought. Sure, they had the same funny interests, but he suspected that a lot of the other rich kids must have.

"Just the one year," Ty replied.

Huh. A year.

He'd gone a full year without finding someone to play with every day. Though, it wasn't like they were really _playing_ with each other, though sometimes Ty brought a ball over to fidget with while they talked. Tony was curious, but he thought it might have been rude to ask such a question as _w_ _hy don't you have any other friends?_

So, instead, he very simply asked: "Where are you from?"

"I was raised in Marseille. We moved here last year."

"Oh. I speak French, you know."

"What, you do?"

"Yeah, I've been learning since I was young."

"You're still young."

"Well, younger."

"<Could you speak it now?>" asked Ty, cautiously.

_*(translated from French)_

Tony had spoken it to his tutors before, and a few of his language instructors had been French-born. He wasn't sure whether or not he'd personally consider it an intellectual pursuit, but he knew it was something most kids didn't learn, and though he was well-versed in it, he still found himself nervous at the thought of slipping up.

"<Yeah, but I don't know if I'm any good at pronunciation.>" It was a half-lie. He'd practiced until he'd perfected it, the way Howard wanted. He'd done that with every language Howard made him learn, even those whose regional sounds differed drastically from what Tony was used to.

It must have been an intellectual pursuit, if only because it wasn't a recreational one.

"<You sound fine to me. You talk like a Parisian, though.>" Ty took notice of the fact that Tony hadn't taken a bite out of his cookie yet and, without asking, he reached over to break off a piece for himself. It wasn't like Tony would miss it; clearly, he didn't care much at all.

"<Do you like talking like this more?>" Tony asked.

"<I don't know. I'd like to say it feels more secretive, but I don't know if that would be the case around here.>"

Tony hummed thoughtfully, finally breaking off a piece of the cookie to eat.

Above all else, he wanted to respect Ty's wishes. It was difficult, though, to shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right. He could feel his chest tightening at the thought of pushing boundaries again, but he just had to ask:

"You're not angry with me, are you?"

Ty caught his eyes for just a moment before glancing away.

"No," he answered, and he left it at that.

* * *

They spent the rest of the semester together in relative peace. They'd been able to find the time to spend study halls together, and their "just talking" turned into far more; they studied together, they ate together, and they found ways to better use their time during their breaks together. Ty wasn't nearly as interested in games like four square as Tony was (and they'd need at least two more players to play anyway, which neither of them was psyched about), but some teachers had dominos and playing cards to lend out, which they happily took.

Ty taught Tony all the card games he knew, and Tony followed along happily. At one point past Halloween, Ty even managed to get other kids to play, provided they were willing to gamble their trick-or-treated candy away. It was the first time since being enrolled that Tony had been around a group of kids his age, and though he much preferred his time with Ty alone, it was nice to have a civil hour or two with the other kids in his grade.

That Halloween rivaled the Halloween Tony had just two years prior, when Jarvis brought cardboard boxes and markers home for Tony to make his own Cap costume. Maria offered to buy one- it was easier, after all, and there was no worry of mess on the carpet- but Tony insisted and Maria conceded, so long as Jarvis was willing to watch him.

Tony repeatedly found himself comparing his time with Ty to the rest of his years. He couldn't claim that he was never as happy in his life as he was when he was with Tiberius, but he could and would say that Ty was something new, something earned.

Jarvis was an employee of the family. His instructors were hired by his parents. Even his dog was his father's first, but not Ty.

Ty was all his. He wasn't just happy; he felt _proud_ and he felt _safe_ , so much so that the thought of leaving Ty to return home was more bitter than sweet.

Tiberius, it seemed, felt the same.

They'd been stuck inside for a good period of time since it started snowing outside, and as such, they had to find a new space to sit at every day during break. Tony picked a table in the corner of the library, and he brushed off Ty's comment about how nestled up he liked to be, so far away from everything else.

Other than that, Ty didn't comment. He met Tony at that table every day, just like they'd done before.

"I have something for you," Tony said when Ty came to sit down one day.

"Oh?" Ty would have loved to say that his interest wasn't feigned, but Tony could tell he was exhausted. He seemed to get worse with each passing day, more jittery and more irritable. It was the 21st of December, and the school day was ending in an hour. In just one hour, they'd both be picked up and brought home for the rest of the year. Ty was probably as nervous about winter break as Tony was; they had both gotten quite settled into their daily routine, after all.

Maybe Tony could meet Ty's parents. Maybe Ty would want to meet his.

Was that a good idea? It would be fine in passing, wouldn't it?

They'd figure it out. They had an hour to themselves, and they might as well make the best of it.

Tony set a knitted beanie onto the table, pushing it toward Ty. It was a deep, dark blue, and quite clearly handmade. If nothing else, it was charmingly amateurish.

"Home ec," Tony explained.

"Ah."

"You like it?"

Ty picked it up, lightly running his fingers over the stitches. He examined it thoughtfully, expression inscrutable. And then he put it on, giving Tony a thumbs up.

"How do I look?"

"Best I've ever seen you," Tony answered with a grin on his face. Ty took a deep breath and set his folded arms on the table, letting his hands curl into loose fists to keep them from trembling noticeably.

He smiled back at Tony, wholly unconvincing. Tony usually found it best to ignore his bouts of attempting to mask whatever it was that was going on in his head, but they weren't going to see each other for a while. Might as well have a nice moment before they split.

So, Tony reached for Ty's hand, gripping it tightly. Ty stared down at their interlocked fingers, and after a moment's hesitation, he gave Tony's hand a squeeze.

They stayed like that for the rest of the hour, chatting away. By the end of it, Ty was laughing once more, looser than he was when he sat down.

And then the bell rang, and Ty's face dropped. He released Tony's hand, pulling off the beanie and pocketing it.

"Uh." Tony guessed Ty's parents said they'd be there on the dot. "It was nice spending time with you."

"Yeah," Ty agreed, though there was a distance in his voice that Tony wasn't quite used to. Tony went to hug him, but Ty set a hand on Tony's chest, keeping him away.

It wasn't exactly the goodbye Tony had in mind. Ty must have seen the borderline wounded look on his face, because he paused nervously at the side of the table. He brought Tony in for a hug, quick and careful, and then pulled away.

" _Au revoir_ , Anthony," he mumbled under his breath, and his anxious tone could have broken Tony's heart in two.

"Bye, Ty."

"No. Until we meet again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy.  
> Here's the brief bullying scene, as written by my lovely @Welcoming_Disaster:
> 
> "hi, tony stark," said a big bully kid (not that big since they're all in 3rd grade) and his two medium sized ((not that medium since they're all in 3rd grade but medium sized for a 3rd grader) bully friends also came up and said "hi tony stark"  
> "please dont bully me said tony stark but as a 3rd grader  
> "you look like u read books" said one of the bully  
> "wearing ur tie..........." said another  
> "you will never be tall" said the third bully  
> finally the last bully came up to them and said "How does it feel knowing that you have no worth as a human being, and despite desperately wanting to find a life-partner you will have a series of failed engagements? How does it feel knowing that the second you stop being useful to the world the best thing you can be is dead?"  
> "no thats a little unfair" said tony stark (baby)  
> "You seem like the kind of guy who would kill Captain America indirectly by contributing to a conflict within the superhero community that ends in his arrest."
> 
> brief Actual Note:  
> Ty was confirmed to be Irish later on with the whole Miguel O'Hara family tree, but French Imigrant Ty is a slight deviation from canon that I hold near and dear to my heart.  
> I had it stuck in my brain long before I ever read Miguel content, so please indulge me.


	3. Chapter 3

"Mr. Stark, your company has been going through some serious upheavals in your absence. Can you tell us where you've been for the past two weeks?"

It felt as if a rock had sunk to the bottom of his stomach. It wasn't a particularly new feeling, even for that period of time. He'd felt sick since he left Ty. Seeing him climb into the back of a limo with Rumiko didn't help in the slightest, either, especially not since Rumiko was in that crowd of reporters staring at him.

Tony had pondered what the silver lining could be in all of this since the beginning. He was a firm believer in the idea that hope could always be found, if only because abandoning that mindset would have devastated his psyche years ago.

And yet, he felt hopeless. There was something about attributing undeserved qualities to the whole of the universe for the sake of objectivity that had a profoundly negative effect on his own self-image; he had no innate ability to see the light at the end of the tunnel, he just happened to know there had to be one.

Hopeful a man as he was, Tony seemed unable to set up any worldview for himself wherein he was guaranteed to win at any point based on merit alone.

He couldn't say he interacted with the world more than most, but he  _ was _ one of the few people alive capable of having such a large impact on the world so quickly. Even before the Avengers, his influence was nigh immeasurable. He might have described it as interacting with the world on a grander scale than most. Everyone played the game; he just happened to be blessed with the privilege of a better hand of cards. He inherited both Boardwalk and Park Place. He started Risk with a full army.

Despite this, he had a tendency to view the world through the lens of a passive observer.  _ People _ could make meaningful change. The earth did what it did best, following closely the patterns it knew well and responding to the will of its inhabitants. The will of its inhabitants, then, was the strongest force upon it.

It was near-formulaic. If he were to make his sweeping statements about the world through the point of view of himself, he'd be forced to ground himself in the present. It just wasn't like him to do so, not when there were grander alternatives available. Yes, he changed the world. He would continue to do so. He'd argue that he had as much influence on the future as the titans of the gilded age had on theirs, and his decisions would continue to spark meaningful change for generations to come.

A handful of generations.

He'd be nearly forgotten eventually, a footnote in textbooks (or whatever the alternative would be at that point in time, which was as exciting a thought as any), or maybe the star of some highly specialized historian's lesser-known passion project. Tony could acknowledge the role that he played and the responsibility that came with it. He did, repeatedly; there was no functional reason not to.

But it was a different world inside of his head, a world that would hopefully keep spinning long enough for him to become impalpable. He thought of the world as it was and people as they could be, and most nights, he was grateful for this. If he had to spend every second alone with himself acknowledging himself, too, he might have gone mad long ago.

Though, sometimes, it felt like he was nearing madness anyway.

"Mr. Stark?" he heard again, and he met the eyes of the querying reporter.

He'd had his break. It was time to acknowledge the present- and, consequently, himself- yet again.

"I had an accident while on vacation," Tony lied through a polite smile. "Nothing dramatic. After the incident with Mr. Stone that caused him to be hospitalized for a period of time, I took a short leave. I slipped in the bathtub, and I was recovering at a private hospital elsewhere."

God, he wished. At least he would have been able to get some rest that way.

"Is it true you had a face-lift?" asked another reporter.

"I think I could still afford a plastic surgeon who'd do a better job than this," he responded.

"Now that you're back, how do you plan to get your company back on track?" yet another reporter asked, and though Tony had set himself up for the onslaught of journalists willingly, he couldn't help but feel like he was being held hostage. 

"There'll be a major announcement coming shortly from Stark Enterprises, and it has nothing to do with a nose job.

Alright. Step 1: Announce Announcement complete.

Step 2 was to come up with an announcement to announce.

Tony stepped away from the podium, raising his hand to silence the reporters who were still leaning closer to speak. He’d think better if he weren’t being barraged with queries, so he settled it then: no further questions.

"Where were you?" he heard a woman call from the crowd.

New plan. One further question.

He knew Rumiko had been listening in, but he didn't think she'd actually make the effort to  _ talk _ to him. He couldn't blame her; he knew how it looked from the outside. He knew how easy it was for Ty to paint him as the villain in their story, and he knew how neglectful he'd been to Rumiko. It didn't matter what his reasons were. If her needs weren't being met, they weren't being met.

It pained him to say it, but she was right to leave. The only thing that shocked him was how long it took for her to do it.

"I mean,  _ really _ . I can believe the part about slipping in the bathtub, but you don't expect me to buy that line about a  _ short leave _ , do you?"

He didn't, and quite frankly, he didn't think it would matter. The question put him on edge- the tone, maybe, more so than the content- but he couldn't quite pin down why. Sure, there may have been some lingering sense of,  _ Ah, in trouble with the missus _ , left over from when they were together, but she was demanding answers that he wasn't entirely sure she was entitled to. They were split up, after all, weren't they?

He felt like he owed her regardless.

Regretfully, he still couldn't answer her question.

"What difference does it make, Rumiko?" Tony asked, and he couldn't help but loathe the exasperation that slipped into his tone. "I'm back now. So, if you've patched things up with Ty, you can go tell him to call off his dogs."

"I haven't seen or heard from Ty in  _ weeks _ ," Rumiko argued. Her hands went to his collar, lightly feeling over its edges in a confusing gesture of... what, exactly? Tony wasn't sure.

Maybe she missed him, or maybe it was meant to be taunting; he hated to think such things of her, but he'd understand if Ty had turned her against him to that degree.

"If I didn't know you better, Tony darling," she started, and Tony had to refrain a shudder at the term of endearment, "I'd swear you just called me a bitch."

He had the same issue with her that he had with seemingly everyone else at that period in time; he could be understanding, he could be open-minded, he could be thoughtful... and yet, still, he couldn't deny the undercurrent of frustration buzzing under his skin. The heat had been building inside of him for quite some time, and being  _ aware _ of it wasn't quite enough to make it go away. Step one was admitting you had a problem. Step two, in this case, was… to let time heal all wounds, maybe?

There was no easy out, no quick solution that would suddenly make his life more bearable than it was before.

Rumiko didn't deserve to face the aftermath of that. She didn't. If Tony were a stronger man, she wouldn't have.

"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think," he quipped back, voice hollow in a way it hadn't been earlier.

Rumiko reacted quickly. The hands on his chest flattened, and she forcefully shoved him away. He staggered back but caught himself, loosely raising his hands in surrender.

"It's all your fault, anyway!" Her voice was raised, her hands curled into fists at her sides as she took a step forward to meet him. "I  _ never _ would have wound up with Ty if you hadn't  _ shut me out of your life. _ "

Ah. Well.

That was... That was hardly his fault, wasn't it? It would be one thing if he'd pushed her into his arms somehow, but all they did was split up. He didn't make the choice to sleep with Ty  _ for _ her. Hell, he barely even had a say in their break-up. She was done with him. She walked away. She slept with his best friend in some effort to get back at him, and--

And she was hurt. She was angry, and Tony always circled back to that. He understood the anger, and everything that followed was just a little more understandable for it.

It wasn't like Tony could say she was talking out of her ass. She had a point; directly or otherwise, he had a role to play in nearly everything that had come back to bite him.

She wouldn't have felt neglected if she wasn't with him. She wouldn't be with him if he didn't agree to it. He could have turned her down, he could have acknowledged that he was in no condition to maintain a relationship (what happened with Joanna proved that much, painful as it was to admit), and she would have been better off for it. But he made a different choice.

He committed, knowing full well that he couldn't. He set them up for failure. He set himself and Ty up for failure. Hell, he set himself and the  _ world _ up for failure. Every adversary he faced happened to be a monster of his own design, through no fault of their own.

Rumiko was no different.

Tony had a knack for pushing people to the edge, it seemed.

"All I wanted was to get to know you- the  _ real _ you- just a little." A small streak of her hair had gotten caught in her lip gloss as she yelled, and out of habit, Tony almost reached up to brush it aside. She reared away from him as his hand raised slightly, her glare as cold as it could be. "But you've built a wall around your heart and shut yourself away in a fucking corporate castle--"

"Until you and Ty showed up with battering rams."

"You're still building walls, Tony." Rumiko shook her head, and if Tony let himself think about it, he might have said it was in disgust. "Just be sure when you're shutting the world out that you're not locking yourself in."

Her heels clicked on the pavement as she began to walk away, and Tony supposed he had no choice other than to let her.

He tore his gaze away from her. He wasn't the most ecstatic about being left alone in such a nosy crowd, but he'd been handling the press for years at that point. Sure, the whole, "Hey, you went completely off the grid for two weeks following that huge 'Tony Stark is a murderer who crippled his best friend' thing; what's up with that?" dilemma was new, but it was nothing he couldn't handle.

He just needed a break.

He lifted his arm to read his watch. 9:02 PM.

3 minutes, then. He'd give himself three minutes to step away and think on his  _ major announcement _ , and then it was back into the thick of it for him.

He cast a final glance at Rumiko- she hadn't left yet, shockingly, but she didn't seem like she would be sticking around for long. She must have gotten caught up in a conversation or something. Tony wasn't going to spend time staring and making guesses.

He allowed himself some distance from the crowd, stepping closer to the edge of the balcony to take a breath.

His eyes scanned his surroundings; it was casual more so than paranoid, though he'd be lying if he said he could fully escape the anxiety of feeling watched those days. He took brief note of the cars that passed by and the people chatting as they went about their days.

He wasn't the best at letting himself relax during his... allotted times for relaxation, but he tried to allow the passing conversations to wash over him. They'd drown out his thoughts, maybe.

"... have to get home to my wife, fuck,  _ fuck _ ."

"... tiny dick the size of a..."

"... is gonna  _ love _ that Valentine's..."

"...  _ can't find Buddy. I let go of his leash for just a second _ ..."

Oh. Huh.

Where had he heard that from?

His left.

He set his hand on the railing, peeking over the edge to try and pin down the voice. It was a kid- little boy, probably, and crying violently. Tony couldn't blame him.

The dog couldn't have been far.

Tony was about to ask the guy next to him if he could keep a look-out for a dog with a loose leash, but before he could even open his mouth, two gunshots rang through the air.

His isolated little corner of the balcony became crowded as ever as every guest swarmed the railing to see what was going on. Journalists and their cameramen rushed to the front of the mob, and Tony gripped the railing tightly to keep his place.

Eyes on the street. Was someone hurt?

Two- no, three men in a sleek black car. Two out of the three wore masks over their faces, and both were armed. An officer staggered out of the alleyway they'd presumably come from, the fabric of his jeans over his right thigh soaked red with blood.

Not dying. He wasn’t dying. He would get help for that.

Tony turned his attention back to the car and the dog--

The dog?

Holy shit, the dog.

The car was speeding toward it, and in the moment, Tony didn’t think. He wouldn’t have opted to if he had the choice; all he could do was act.

He vaulted over the railing of the balcony, tugging hard on the handle of his briefcase as he did so. He barely heard Rumiko’s scream of “ _ Tony! _ ” over the sound of the suit emerging from the case, clicking into place around him as he fell.

The gauntlets attached wholly first, and Tony waited until his thighs were properly covered to use the repulsors to catch himself. Then came the boots, allowing him to stabilize himself before reaching the ground. For a split second, he thought he might not make it in time.

He did.

The car began screeching to a halt as it saw him land, but it couldn't have slowed enough to save the dog. He dug his hands into the front of the car, careful not to aggravate anything under the hood that would cause more damage than it prevented, and planted his feet in the ground.

One of the men went flying through the windshield, and Tony's first thought since he made the decision to jump was  _ Put  _ that _ shit on a poster for the Buckle Up project _ .

Everything was quiet for just a few seconds as the passersby processed what they'd just seen. Tony took in a few deep breaths.

Well. Step 2: Come Up With An Announcement was complete. That was fun. What next?

Oh, right.

The dog.

He scooped it up, and though he couldn't feel its tremors, he knew it must have been scared out of its mind. He lifted his faceplate and turned to the crowd once more in an attempt to find the boy he'd seen earlier.

There he was. The kid looked stunned as he took the dog from Tony's arms, mumbling a dazed yet polite, "Thank you."

Rumiko's voice faded back in from the background. God, she sounded angry. It may have been deserved, but fuck, he was getting kind of tired of being yelled at.

"For a  _ dog? _ You kept this from me all the time we were together and gave away your secret for a  _ dog? _ " She stormed toward him, pressing an accusatory finger into his chest. It was an upgrade from shoving, at least.

"No," Tony started, a little desperate and a little exhausted. He could at least try to explain, couldn't he? Would it make things less painful for both of them? God, he hoped so. "No. For him."

Rumiko turned away from Tony to steal a glance at the boy, her brows furrowing in frustration. Her gaze softened when she laid eyes on the boy pressed up close to his mother, tears of relief streaming down his face that the dog tried to lick away. With a sharp inhale, she looked back at Tony.

"You owe me an explanation. You owe me so, so much, Tony."

He couldn't argue with that.

"Let me buy you a coffee," he offered. "We'll talk."

* * *

"I just felt it was better to keep Iron Man separate from Tony Stark. I was concerned that the knowledge might put my friends at risk."

They walked side-by-side, Rumiko's hand lightly holding Tony's outstretched arm by the crook of his elbow. It was nice to have her so close again, though it didn't feel quite as effortless as before. There was a clash between what he wanted so desperately and what he knew would be best for her.

The only question remaining was just how much worse off she'd be if he asked her to stay.

He'd let her take the lead. She was good at that. If nothing else, she was better at recognizing the overlap between what she wanted and what was feasible. 

She mulled over his words, hand squeezing his arm slightly as she pressed closer to him to side-step another pedestrian. He let the silence linger; she clearly needed it.

"And now?" she asked.

"I don't know that my concerns matter, anymore. Can't stuff the cat back into the bag." He opened the door for her as they passed the cafe, a little hole-in-the-wall place that he visited when it was too late for even the bars to stay open. He led her to a nice, secluded corner booth, taking the seat across from her. "To be honest, Ru, I don't... I don't know that Iron Man would serve me well in my friendships even if he  _ didn't _ put people in danger. I mean, look at us."

"My biggest issue was with your character. Nothing else. I thought you were ditching me," she deadpanned, sharply glancing up at him from her menu. "Repeatedly." It was playful enough, though he knew better than to assume that meant she would be over the hurt. He knew as well as anyone else that being presented with new information couldn't erase what your prior misunderstandings had done to you.

As time passed, it only became clearer to him.

"You can't tell me I was around often enough for you to be happy. C'mon, it just wasn't... It wasn't a good set-up."

"There were  _ so _ many factors that went into it," Rumiko argued. "But, look, I don't want to argue about a potential future you're not willing to explore with me."

"I didn't say I wasn't willing."

Rumiko watched him for a moment, eyes softening. It felt... validating, somehow, to be looked at like that again. He couldn't pinpoint what it was, exactly, that was invoking such a response in him. At one point, maybe he'd felt betrayed by her, as undeserved as it was. If not betrayed, then at the very least, forcefully misunderstood. Though he couldn't find it in himself to pin the blame on her for walking away like she did, he could still acknowledge the fact that it was painful.

He loved her. God, he loved her so much it hurt sometimes, and to see her hands on Ty after--

After, uh.

Just  _ after _ .

It was awful. This, in contrast, was vindicating.

He had half the mind to reach out across the table to take her hand, but she pulled away to reach into her purse before he could manage it.

"Close your eyes," she told him.

"What?"

"Just trust me. Close your eyes."

Okay. He couldn't argue with that, he guessed. Eyes closed. He heard some shuffling, what sounded like the rattling of keys on a ring, and... the sound of something opening? Oh, he recognized that. Lipstick. Lipstick tube. She was applying lipstick.

For a... kiss, maybe?

Tony puckered his lips, just the tiniest bit. He didn't want to dead fish against her mouth if she  _ was _ going in for a kiss.

"Stop doing that with your mouth. Hold out your hand, too."

Okay. Never mind the kiss, then. He rested his hand on the table, letting it sit palm-up. Rumiko set something on top of it, and he (with eyes still closed- no cheating) began to feel the edges.

"You got me an envelope," Tony said fondly.

"Oh, hush. You can open your eyes now." Rumiko deftly closed the button on her purse, leaning back in her seat. She looked quite proud of herself.

Eyes: opened.

Huh.

"Why did I have to close my eyes if the surprise is in the envelope?" he asked, already sliding his finger under the fold to open it.

"Hey, not yet."

"You're really not great at this whole 'surprise' thing, Ru."

"I spoke to my--"

"Are we changing the topic? Before I get to open the surprise?"

Rumiko huffed, rolling her eyes as she set her folded arms down on the table. She suppressed a smile, continuing: "I spoke to my grandfather."

Tony didn't interrupt her then.

"He's agreed to sell you back 49% of Stark Industries, while he retains an equal 49% share. Stark Industries can devote its efforts to research and Fujikawa gets first crack at development. That's the whole deal. It won't be cheap, but I think you can afford it now."

Ah.

"Who holds the other 2%?" he asked.

"I do."

"I see."

"I don't think you do." She stood from the table, nodding her head slightly toward the envelope. "There's something you should have figured out about me by now, Tony. I don't care about wealth or power, maybe because I never had to live without them. But there was never a day when I wouldn't have traded them both for someone who just...  _ loved _ me."

Tony tilted the envelope downward, causing the papers inside to slip halfway out.

Oh.  _ Oh _ .

"Two percent share in Stark Industries," Tony mumbled as he looked over the pages, letting out a huff of disbelief.

"No strings. Call it an apology," Rumiko bent down enough to press a kiss to Tony's temple, "or a going-away present."

"An apology," Tony took her hand before she could leave, pressing his own kiss to her knuckles. "An accepted apology. And  _ yours _ is waiting back at my place."

"Are you coming onto me, Tony Stark?"

"Is it working?"

Rumiko tugged him out of the booth, a fond grin on her face as she squeezed his hand in hers. "It's working, Iron Man."

There was his silver lining, then. Stunning and shining, and his to keep.


	4. Chapter 4

Tony knew better than to propose to a woman when he couldn't be completely honest with her. He'd thought of it a few times- enough times, at least, to ask for a ring size. He bought ring after ring for her, different colors and metals and styles, in hopes that it would cover up the implication of the question. He'd asked so early on that she couldn't possibly have had marriage on her mind, he thought.

It was a pipe dream. He could've sworn he had  _ nightmares _ about what would happen when she found out. Iron Man had taken many loves from him, and he was sure Rumiko would be no exception.

Eventually, she'd be gone for good. Hell, for a while there, he thought she already  _ was _ .

As it turned out, the news that he was Iron Man alone wouldn't break them apart. Still, he was careful about it; he didn't show her any wounds he didn't have to, he tried to wait until she was out of the apartment to charge up, and he spoke as little about his sudden missions as he possibly could.

He knew  _ something _ was bound to be the final straw. As far as he was concerned, so long as he was on life support, their relationship would be too.

He hoped to God that he could make up for it. He wasn't much of a religious man (quite the opposite, actually), but even he knew that it was better to ask and not receive than to never ask at all.

If his mother could have seen him then, praying for strength; for wisdom; for courage, maybe she'd have been proud. She would like Rumiko, wouldn't she? Tony heard stories of his mother from when she was younger. He was vaguely aware of how fiery and independent she was. It was what Howard loved about her, he'd said.

Some days, it felt that way.

Some days, it felt like Howard couldn't stand it.

Tony loathed to say he was happy his father was dead. It just... wasn't true. He felt plenty of things- relief was amongst said things- but he wasn't happy. Still, he could acknowledge that falling in love was much easier when there were no parents to please. Not on his side, at least.

They'd never meet her. They'd never meet their grandchildren, if ever Tony were lucky enough to have any. They'd never come to visit or babysit. Painful as it was to admit, Tony could still console himself with the ease of it all.

Tony knew better than to propose. Against this better judgment, though, he purchased a ring. He told himself it wasn't a final step; it was a goal at best and a symbol of his wishful thinking at most. He shifted the limit, again and again, to allow himself to get closer to her. He knew even as he did it that it was selfish of him but, nervous as he was, he only needed to convince himself for a few moments that it was alright to love her so much. Moment by moment, he edged closer to a life with her. 

He never was one for instant gratification, but he looked into her eyes and it  _ did _ something to him. He fell hard and he fell fast, but regardless of the circumstances under which he did, it was still evident that he was falling. He could allow himself this knowing full well it would be more painful in the long run. The more intertwined they became, the more he'd feel the break in the string when it finally snapped.

But that was an issue for future Tony.

He tried to make things easier for the poor bastard in most cases, but he could have this, couldn't he? He could.

God, he wanted her so much.

He took a seat at his desk, slipping the little box out of his pocket and opening it to reveal the ring inside. She didn't care about wealth nor status, and he took this to mean he was allowed creative liberties with the design of the ring. If she didn't like it, he wouldn't have a problem switching it out, but he couldn't lie. He was kind of proud of himself.

The gemstone was a bright pinkish-purple ruby, set in a silver casing. Small diamonds lined the edges of the split shank band. It was striking and vivid, much like the woman herself. He even took into consideration what she tended to wear; they both put quite a bit of thought into their wardrobes, and he thought this would match her most repeated color combinations the best. He'd considered everything.

The thought of her- of them- made his breath hitch, and he fidgeted awkwardly with the velvet covering of the box as he let himself relax into the chair.

Or, wait.

No, it wasn't the thought of her. He was sure that was contributing to the shortness of breath, but it was only worsening as time went on, and. He must have needed to charge. It was a common mistake among people who needed to plug into their walls, he guessed.

He closed the little box and set it in his drawer. He had no plans for it- not then, at least- but it was nice to know he could come back to it whenever he felt compelled to.

Up he got, then. He slipped his suit jacket off and hung it up, deftly unbuttoning his shirt afterward. It was quiet in the apartment, and though quiet hadn't been synonymous with peaceful in quite a while for him, he felt comfortable saying it was peaceful as well. He and Rumiko had built up something of a routine in the few weeks following their reunion: he'd head to work, she'd go out, and they'd both be home by eight at night. Some days she'd stay out later and meet up with friends and some days he'd have to leave and take care of Iron Man duties, but they tried to make a habit of seeing each other fairly regularly.

It was more than he thought he'd get, after what happened. He was just glad to have her back.

He slipped out of his dress pants as well; he'd streamlined the recharging process and cut the time until full charge nearly in half, but the cost was the comfort he was allowed before. It was more painful than ever, and he'd hate to sweat through any nice clothing.

Did he really need to wear pants at all? It was his apartment. If Rumiko happened to stop by before he got a chance to put pajamas on, she wouldn't be scandalized or anything.

No pants, then.

He left his bedroom for the charging station. By the time he finally took a seat by the outlet (a seat he hilariously referred to as his "charging dock" in his internal monologue, and he thought he'd have to share that little joke with Rumiko later down the line), his chest had tightened and his extremities were tingling and cold.

Whew. Alright.

He'd prepared a little metal rod with a cushioned sleeve to bite down on during the charging process, and before he reached for the outlet itself, he set that in his mouth. God, he hated this part.

He plugged one end into the wall, took a deep breath, and... plugged himself in.

To put it plainly, it felt like he'd been struck by lightning. His limbs were abuzz and his body was tense; he'd gotten used to it to some degree, but he still found solace in the fact that it wouldn't be much longer. Even so, the aftermath of the feeling was almost as tiring as the feeling itself. His muscles were often too loose and incredibly sore, and his jaw never benefited from being clenched so hard for so long. It was a fact of life at that point that his days would be spent trading lethal pain for unbearable yet survivable pain. He'd made his amends with that.

Besides, it wasn't the worst thing in the world. He'd hurt himself more for less in the past. This, at least, was risk-free.

The buzzing, monotonous pain faded into the background after a short while, and...

And something felt not-quite-right.

He was at his desk. He was  _ at his desk, book open in front of him. Ty was laying on his back in Tony's bed, tossing a bright green tennis ball up in the air and catching it as it fell. _

_ "Are you done?" Ty asked. _

_ "Does it look like I'm done?" _

_ Ty caught the ball one last time before lightly chucking it at Tony's shoulder. Tony turned quickly as it hit him, brows furrowing. _

_ "That's not going to make me read any faster," he said. _

_ "Maybe not, but it  _ did _ get your attention." _

_ Tony rolled his eyes almost fondly, though he wouldn't lie and say Ty couldn't be a little overbearing at times. He supposed Ty always made up for it, though-- one day, he'd be far too present, and the next, he'd barely be present at all. It averaged out to a nice middle ground, didn't it? He wasn't consistent in the slightest, but at least he wasn't too much of any one thing, right? _

_ Ty liked to joke that he got away with it because Tony thought he was pretty. He said that Tony was the same; no one could be upset with him for too terribly long, not with those eyes of his. He said Tony had only gotten prettier as the years passed, too, and that he hardly had to work at anything to get places. He'd been handed everything, after all, from the very beginning. _

_ Tony couldn't shake the feeling that it was a dig at him, but to be fair, he also couldn't shake the stupid teenage-brained thought of  _ Oh, he thinks I'm pretty _. _

_ Ty had grown up quite nicely himself (“grown up” was a funny thing to say in this context- he was only 15, after all, and Tony was only 13). Ty’s jaw was a little more angular than it was before. His eyes were sharper and they twinkled more than ever these days. He seemed more comfortable in his own skin. _

_ Tony liked that about him. Perhaps Tony was the only person alive who could see how unsteady Ty's steps were and how hesitantly he took up space when he did. Overcoming his fearful nature, Tony thought, was more admirable than having a predisposition to confidence to begin with. It was certainly something to be proud of, at least. _

_ Selfishly, Tony wanted to believe he was the reason for Ty's dynamic shift. He wanted to believe it was his words of praise that built Ty up. It was his loyalty that made Ty more steady. It was him, being who he was, that made Ty who Ty was. It was as selfish a desire as any boy could have. _

_ It would have been nice if he could have mattered that much. _

_ But he knew better, didn't he? Ty hadn't changed. Maybe their interaction then was little more than a lie. It was almost funny to think of it in those terms, but Tony thought to himself,  _ Does he really think I'm pretty? _ and he was only a little bit embarrassed for it. _

_ Ty stood up- strange, wasn't it? Tony could have sworn Ty couldn't walk like that- and picked the ball up from the ground where it had fallen. He didn't go right back to the bed, though. Instead, he rested his arm atop the back of Tony's chair and peered over his shoulder at the book splayed open on the desk. _

_ Tony glanced up at him, sticking his tongue out half-playfully before turning back to the book. _

_ Huh. He could have sworn there were words on the page just a minute ago. Had Ty turned to the front or back while he wasn't looking? That wasn't possible, was it? He'd been looking the whole time. _

_ "Uh, Ty, am I..."  _ crazy _ , he wanted to ask, flipping through the pages. All blank. Ty didn't comment on that. In fact, he didn't even let Tony finish. _

_ "I'm going to the library later. You'll come with?" he asked. _

_ Tony's gaze was fixed on the empty page. _

_ "Anthony." _

_ "What?" _

_ "I'm going to the library later. You'll come with me?" _

_ Tony looked up again, meeting Ty's eyes. His hair was darker than Tony remembered it-- no, it was the right color. The right color for the time. Ty's hair had been so dark before, back when they were in school, but they weren't in school anymore. _

_ He was about to comment, but before he could, the door shook violently with a thud as if being banged on. Ty's head snapped up, and Tony immediately went to grab onto his forearm.  _ Safe _ , he wanted to say.  _ You're safe. I'll take care of this _. _

_ He didn't say much of anything. _

_ "Tony!" a voice called out from behind the shaking door. "Tony, come back to me! Tony!" _

_ It was familiar, but he couldn't quite tell where he knew it from. It was a woman, an older woman-- his mom? No, right? His efforts to put a name to the voice seemed futile. _

_ "Anthony," Ty started. "Tony, stay here." _

_ "I'm staying," Tony promised. "I just-- What's that about? Do you know?" _

_ "No. Just stay. Stay with me." _

_ "I'm staying." _

_ It was silent for a moment. Ty let out a sigh of what seemed to be relief, and that was as baffling as anything. Tony's grip on his arm loosened. _

_ Then the banging started back up. _

_ "Tony, please! Tony, come back to me!" _

_ He glanced nervously at Ty, and-- _

_ “Tony!” _

* * *

"Come  _ back _ to me."

And there were hands on him, and it felt like something was being ripped out of his-- ripped out of his chest, and he couldn't breathe, and he didn't know who was touching him, he didn't know--

He didn't mean to shove her as hard as he did. It only settled in moments after the deed was done, and she fell roughly to the floor.

Though his muscles ached and his limbs felt numb, he mustered up the strength to get out of the chair. He held his hand out to her, pulling her up off of the ground when she took it.

"That's the thanks I get, huh?" Rumiko asked, almost sardonically. She took in Tony's expression, and though he couldn't speak on her behalf, he was certain he looked as lost as he felt.

He remembered getting home. He went out to pick up the ring, he came home, then he put the box away. He stripped. He sat down to charge. He plugged in.

And then, to put it plainly, he'd had a nightmare. The imagery was so vivid, so life-like, that it almost felt... real.

Almost felt real.

The revelation could have shaken him to his core. His hands trembled lightly, and he couldn't quite tell whether or not he'd been doing that since he woke up. The strength he mustered out of concern for Rumiko dissipated, and he was left with post-charge fatigue and... anxiety.

It felt real.

The whole thing reeked of Tiberius. Tony had half the mind to bring it up, but he figured Rumiko had gotten involved enough. She was his to keep, it seemed, but he'd misunderstood the universe when he assumed it had provided him with a silver lining. Revealing himself as Iron Man hadn't broken down the wall between them; it had only chipped away at the corners. There was still a whole world of information he just couldn't let her know.

It wasn't quite so high stakes then.

Maybe it was self preservation.

It was a race against himself. Who would destroy his chances of building a family- a home- first? Tony Stark or Iron Man?

Rumiko's voice, concerned and frustrated as it was, was the sweetest break from himself he could have hoped for.

"You looked like a guy sitting in the electric chair," she commented, reaching to lightly caress his shoulder. "You were-- You were freaking out, Tony. I just got home, and you were..."

"I'm sorry." He wished he had more to say. "I know. I'm sorry, I never wanted you to see that."

"You're like this every time?"

No. No, not exactly-- He wasn't like  _ this _ every time, but he was still... he was a sight to behold, that was for damn sure. It was close enough to the truth, wasn't it? It wasn't an awful lie to tell.

"Yeah," he replied softly. "Tried not to plug in while you were home."

" _ Tony _ ." Rumiko looked... betrayed, or hurt, or both. Tony's chest tightened at the sight. "You're kidding."

"I'm sorry."

"I wanted you to be  _ honest _ with me. God, I-- We were supposed to be in this  _ together _ . All I want is-- I can  _ help _ you." The desperation slipping into her tone was painful to hear. Truth be told, Tony would have preferred to set himself down in the electric chair again.

If he were a dog, he might have tucked tail at that point.

"I didn't think you'd want to see it," he said honestly.

"I'd rather know than not know. I'd rather know you're hurting than walk around like you're  _ not _ , Tony, what were you even--"

"I'm sorry. It was a lapse in judgment. I should have told you."

"Yes! Yes, you fucking should have."

She took a deep breath, shoulders slumping on the exhale. Her fingers clutched the strap of her purse tightly. She looked conflicted- it felt like that was the only expression she was capable of around Tony, sometimes, and he couldn't blame her for that- but she couldn't keep herself from softening.

She approached slowly, reaching out to graze Tony's chest with the tips of her fingers. Tony set his hand on top of hers, taking hold of it to press a kiss to her palm.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled against her skin. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

Rumiko sighed, pressing against Tony's front and tucking up close. The tension in her muscles seemed only slightly alleviated, and Tony couldn't blame her for that, either.

"It better not," she mumbled back to him. "I love you. I love you so much, you know that?"

"I know."

She rested her hand on the side of his face, and he couldn't keep himself from pressing into the touch. She was so gentle with him, so kind. She was capable of so much fire, and she never dimmed down for Tony (he certainly didn't want her to), but she always made sure to keep her flame warm and comforting when he was around. He only hoped he could provide that same kind of warmth for her, but what did he have to offer? Compared to her, what did he have, really?

She was too good for him. He'd thought that thought many times in many different ways. It was flattering, humbling, astonishing. He was grateful and guilty and- and lovesick, he thought.

"Come to bed with me," she said, and he couldn't argue with that. He'd leave everything else for tomorrow. It was the least he could do for her.

* * *

If nothing else, Tony was at least grateful for the fact that life returned to normal so quickly. It was the way of the world, he supposed- his name fell out of headlines and some other poor bastard's got plastered everywhere instead. Tony was left to his own devices. He'd stopped getting funny looks as he passed by people on the street, and he was able to get his work done at about the same rate with the same ease as he used to.

It was nice to be at his desk again, at least.  _ His _ desk. He didn't mind the others he'd taken up in his absence, but he had to admit, it was more of a mood-lifter to sit at a finely crafted mahogany work than it was to sit at a cheap metal sort of thing. He wasn't tightly bound to luxuries- quite the opposite, really, as he'd spent longer than he would have chosen to away from them- but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy them.

He knew plenty of people who were self-proclaimed abominators of paperwork. There was too much of it, they said, and it was mind numbing. Repetitive. Useless and time consuming- who would read all of that,  _ really _ ?

Tony wasn't generally of a similar mind, though he could certainly empathize at times. Paperwork could get tiring- of course it could- but there were some productive levels of boredom he could allow himself while still remaining comfortable in the amount of work he was doing. Paperwork happened to be a nice middle ground between work and rest for him; it was easy to digest (for the most part, at least, as he was a fast reader with a penchant for quick, yet whole, comprehension) and easy to handle. It was a perfect menial task to keep his hands busy while his mind wandered, and wander it did.

It wandered so much, in fact, that he couldn't have even told you what he was thinking about the moment before he was jolted out of his daydreams by the harsh ringing of his cell phone. His hand had moved when he flinched, and he took a moment to frown at the streak his pen had left across the paper he was reviewing. No matter. He'd reprint it, and all would be well. Still, it was sad to look at. He had kind of a flawless signature streak going. Oh, well. No use crying over spilled... pen ink.

He leaned back in his office chair, reaching into his pocket to nab the still-ringing phone. Caller ID: Steve Rogers.

Ah. Click.

"Hello?"

"Tony," Steve greeted, tone a little stilted. "I figured I'd check in. How are you... How are you adjusting?"

Tony wasn't used to Steve sounding so uncertain. He was drawing out syllables of words. His voice was quieter than normal; his trailing off only to repeat himself was uncharacteristic, given how confidently he spoke on an ordinary day. He seemed halfway between casual and not-so-casual, and Tony couldn't help but wonder if Steve was trying to reconcile the two manners of speaking he adopted for Iron Man and Tony Stark respectively.

"Believe it or not, it almost feels like nothing's changed. Guess everyone's onto the next big thing," Tony answered. He tried to keep his voice even, but he couldn't deny that he was nervous. Steve understood, didn't he? Wouldn't he? He knew what it took to keep people safe. Surely, it wouldn't be an issue.

Not a moral one, at least.

"I wanted to apologize."

Oh. Well. That certainly wasn't what Tony was expecting. What could a man like him even be apologizing for- his rippling muscles and rock hard abs? His kindness? His shocking level of understanding and his lack of freaking the fuck out about this?

"I'm sorry, but I think you lost me somewhere."

"For everything I said about you. I wouldn't have spoken so poorly about you if I'd known-- That doesn't make it alright. I know that doesn't make it alright."

"Whoa, okay, uh." Speaking poorly about him? What, was Steve gossipping behind his back, or? "What's this in reference to?"

"Every time Iron Man and I- you and I, actually- every time we talked about... your  _ employer _ , Tony Stark. I was too harsh. They really were intended to be jokes, Tony, but."

_ Oh _ . Oh. Superhero gossip. The gossip that he was a part of. Tony nearly sighed in relief- that stung far less than the idea that Steve was going around shit talking him to the rest of the team. He didn't  _ truly _ believe that Steve would, but you couldn't blame him for the momentary panic.

God, Steve really felt bad about that, huh? Tony sure as hell wasn't going to put in the effort to hold him accountable for something so lighthearted. In all fairness, Steve made comments to Iron Man that Tony himself might make in Steve's shoes. At times, it almost seemed like Steve was under the impression that Tony was  _ mistreating _ Iron Man. No personal information could be shared whatsoever- not even a name. The restrictions were understandable, but a tad bit oppressive, it felt like.

"That's... That's really fine, Cap." Tony leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbow against his desk as he spoke. He held the phone more closely to himself than normal; this wasn't a conversation he wanted to half ass, and for whatever reason, talking like this just felt more intimate. "No offense taken. They were funny jokes."

He heard a sigh from the other end of the line, and he couldn't help but smile fondly at the familiar display of exasperation.

"Alright," Steve finally settled on. "How are you and Rumiko?"

"I wasn't aware you followed my personal life that closely."

"She was mentioned when the story broke. Caught a glimpse."

"Ah. We're alright. Back together. All is well."

"That's good."

Steve still seemed so stiff. Their conversations were rarely this mannered. God, Tony hoped this wouldn't be their new normal.

In some half-desperate effort to ease the tension, he picked up his coffee mug and held it over his mouth. It wouldn't create the proper tinny effect that came from both the forced voice modulation of the suit and the helmet itself, but maybe it would be familiar enough (and the effort appreciated enough) to get a laugh or something. When he spoke again, it was with more of that heroic-adjacent Iron Man intonation.

"You alright, Winghead? You're not talking like yourself."

There was a moment of pause, and Tony briefly worried that he'd crossed a line joking about the reveal so soon. Then came a quiet, huffy laugh from the phone speakers. It grew in volume until Steve was laughing outright (startled, probably- it wasn’t  _ that _ funny), and his smile could be heard in his voice when he responded.

"I'm alright, Shellhead. It's something to... get used to, definitely," Steve answered. Tony pretended like he didn't hear the hesitation in Steve's voice; if he had issues adjusting, he had issues adjusting. It was a serious lie, and a long-standing one. Tony was just glad that Steve wasn't pissed enough to keep from calling.

"I've gotta get back to training," Steve added then, and Tony relaxed into his chair once more as that comfortable air of familiarity settled back in between them. "But we'll catch up soon."

"'Course. Thanks for checking up."

"Anytime, tin man."

Tony pocketed his phone once the call had ended. He'd longed for warmth so many times in the last few months that actually  _ experiencing _ it again was overwhelming enough for him to forget what he was doing entirely before the call. His eyes scanned his desk. Papers. Papers. Papers.

Pen mark. Right. He had to reprint something.

He shifted his chair closer to his desk, setting his hand on his mouse. He paused, then, and allowed himself a moment of respite to bask in that warmth.

He got the love of his life back. One of his best friends forgave what could have been read as a major breach of trust. He was back at work, out of the public eye (as much as he could be, at least), and for the first time in quite a while, everything felt  _ normal _ ... right?

There was something inside of him, though- a lingering feeling of unease gnawing away at his temporary optimism- that he couldn't repress for long.

_ Just stay _ , it called.  _ Stay with me _ .


End file.
